Cast Away: The Invisible, Inaudible Family

by Craig Martin

In 2009, Bazura Project co-creator Shannon Marinko produced a sitcom for Melbourne’s Channel 31 called The Invisible, Inaudible Family. In a parody of high concept marketing typical of Marinko’s prankish, cynical nerd-centric humour, the name of the sitcom pretty much describes what the show is about: a family that can neither be seen nor heard.

Marinko purportedly wrote a screenplay for his series that included all the narrative situations and punchlines. He then took his camera into a fully furnished two storey suburban home where he photographed scenes in rooms with everything but a cast. His set ups are based on shots commonly used in sitcoms filmed in front of live audiences, such as Friends, Seinfeld or Two and a Half Men. Establishing shots, pans, master shots and shot-reverse shots tend to dominate, as they do in the run-of-the-mill sitcom.

The use of shot-reverse shots indicate exchanges between characters, and editing provides a sense of the pace of the unheard dialogue. The only sound used in the series – apart from the theme music and its riff of bridging chords used to denote a new scene – is applause and laugh tracks, sometimes referred to as “canned laughter” to indicate that the laughs are inserted in post-production from preexisting stock recordings of audience laughter stored in separate “cans”.

Inger-Lise Bore identifies the laugh track as having two key functions: “one of these is to offer individual viewers a sense that ‘we’ are all watching and laughing at the program together, as a collective audience … [while] a second, related function of the laugh track is to ensure that the comedy feels like a ‘safe’ space where it is okay to laugh at people’s misfortunes or transgressions” (2011, p. 24). However, Bore also points out that there is a manipulative aspect to the laugh track insomuch as it tells us when (it is safe) to laugh and, perhaps more insidiously, that it attempts to discourage polysemic readings of the televisual text by suggesting that there is only one way to view and experience the text presented on screen (p.24). Brett Mills states that sitcoms can never successfully convince us that they are funny, but what they can do is show us, via a live audience’s response, that other people found them funny, which is considered fundamental to their success and the reason why “the key generic characteristic of the sitcom is the laugh track” (2009, p.102). Mills adds that in his interviews with industry personnel, a common view expressed by interviewees was that “laughter captured at the time of recording is a sign of ‘authenticity’ and that using canned laughter was tantamount to acknowledging that a program had failed” (p. 102).

The laugh tracks heard in The Invisible, Inaudible Family are conspicuously canned, evidenced by the way they are cut off as though by the flick of a switch, and by the repetitive use of a finite and specific set of laugh tracks. The repetition of the same bursts of laughter has an accumultively numbing effect as it becomes increasingly disingenuous, and yet it is because of this very effect that it becomes strangely absorbing and amusing, serving to validate Marinko’s project, which is to deliberately poke fun at and highlight the artificiality and contrived nature of the sitcom.

What is fascinating about Marinko’s use of the laugh track is how his manipulation of its regularity and intensity taps into our familiarity with this particular televisual form. Thus without seeing anyone or hearing any dialogue, we develop a general sense of the type of conversations taking place, based entirely on the use of the laugh track, the framing, and the pace of cuts. Thus, where there is only intermittent laughter combined with the shot/reverse shot, we can assume that some of the invisible characters are having a conversation and, most probably, one of the characters is responding with sarcasm to comments (or set ups) made by another character. This is – typically – a set up/punchline format.

Sometimes the camera will focus on a doorway before panning across the room while the laugh track bursts with spontaneous hilarity and applause, indicating that a popular character has just entered the room (in Seinfeld, this was usually Kramer bursting into Jerry’s apartment in some idiosyncratic way, or two decades earlier, Fonzi swaggering into Al’s Diner to deliver his signature, “Aaaaa!”). On other occasions, a take may be quite long while uproarious laughter is heard, suggesting that either a sight gag, a showdown, a deliberate pause to encourage laughter, or a rapid-fire string of punch lines is being performed.

By utilising a laugh track while dispensing with cast and dialogue, and only filming empty spaces, The Invisible Inaudible Family lampoons as well as reveals the artifice of the sitcom template. It also heightens our awareness of the spacial and lighting elements of mise-en-scene that indicate time of day, the function of specific spaces and settings (kitchen, lounge, bedroom, etc), and where within the space we might expect to see characters positioned were they visible. The editing likewise orients us in space, but more importantly it serves the dialogue, cutting to which ever character is speaking.

Thanks Shannon! I’m quite a fan, so it is pure pleasure to receive your reply and thank you for reading my humble blog. I started out writing this short piece to amuse myself while using it as an example of critical analysis for my first year students. I later thought that it should be made available to a broader audience, and here it is. My fantasy is that you perhaps went through a similar process with your sitcom.

The thing I did not mention in my blog is that The Invisible Inaudible Family is as much an experiment to see just how far a one-gag-idea can be stretched – beyond breaking point is the resounding answer – as it is a commentary on the tiresomeness of much televisual entertainment. Whether or not I continue trawling through episodes of The Invisible Inaudibles is yet to be seen (or heard). At the moment my sanity is questionable so its either the perfect time or it will all end in tears, although most likely it’d be both.

I wish I could say there was a greater purpose in making TIIF beyond “It was too silly not to do”.
So let’s say that I am a deconstructive genius, a master of satire, a daring performance artist and, above all, as modest as fuck.

Nothing to declare I’m afraid. Your comment deserves a good old-fashioned LOL (I suppose LOLs have been around long enough to warrant being called old-fashioned, boosted by the fact that some people still insist on using them every opportunity they get lol. Archaic much!) or maybe a smiley face 🙂 God forgive me!